Douglas Orvis

AC Spark Plug machine operator, 1955

Feature Article from Hemmings Classic Car

Between completing high school in January of 1955 and starting college in September of that year, I decided to try to get a job in one of the many automotive factories in Flint, Michigan, to make some decent money to help pay for school. I made the rounds to the employment offices of Buick, Chevrolet and AC Spark Plug, filled out the applications and waited for a call. As luck would have it, I caught the flu and was sick in bed when I got a call to report to AC for an interview. Thankfully, I was lucid enough during the interview to be hired.
My first assignment was as a sweeper's assistant in the fuel-pump die-cast department on the afternoon shift, from 3 to 11:30 p.m. My first night, I reported to the foreman, a mustached, brawny man in a blue shop coat who took me into his glass-enclosed office just off the floor and sat me down to explain my duties and his expectations. I had been hired to take some of the load off of "Frank," the long-term sweeper, who was nearing retirement and was finding the job a bit too much for him. In a nutshell, the job within the die-cast area proper was too much for one sweeper (of Frank's age), but not enough for two full-time sweepers. So I would help Frank, but also be responsible for cleaning out the two restrooms at the end of each day's shift. After two or three months as a sweeper, the foreman asked me if I would like to become a machine operator. The wage was $2.32 per hour, versus the sweeper job at $1.79 per hour. A no-brainer.
I was assigned to one of the smaller, older "mechanically operated" machines; the newer machines were hydraulically operated. The die in the machine was designed to cast the base of a small, single-diaphragm fuel pump and was designed to produce two parts per shot. Each casting emerged with two parts, at 3 and 9 o'clock, connected to the conical central "sprue" by "flashing" bands about a half-inch wide.
The operating procedure was as follows: 1) Push the "open" button to start the motor that drove the die apart; 2) Heat the die with a torch if this is the first casting on the shift or after a break; 3) Brush the interior of the front and back die halves with beeswax (not too much, but just enough--knowledge gained through experience of making good castings); 4) Push the "start/close" button and step back from the center of the closed die to wait for the shot of molten metal to be driven into the die by a hydraulically powered piston (avoiding the spray of metal that flew out of the small space between the front and rear dies and splashed onto the motor control panel); 5) Wait for the timer to start the motor to crank open the die; and 6) Remove the casting with a gloved hand or tongs. The tongs could be used only to grab the "sprue," a cone of metal that took the shape of the throat of the shot path into the die front. The die surfaces were not to be touched by any tools other than those made of brass.
In this operation, I had only to remove the casting and place it carefully into a pan that was collected by others when it filled. (In a later assignment on a different die, I had to break the castings into two pieces representing different kinds of parts. This was more difficult and resulted in several burned fingers, despite the thick gloves I wore.)
Occasionally, a whole or partial casting would stick in the die. To whatever extent possible, the operator would try to pry or dig the chunks of metal out of the die using a brass chisel and brass hammer. Failing to get all the residue, he would have to start up the gas torch to begin melting the pieces. After cleaning it completely so that the critical die surfaces were ready for a new shot, the operator would attempt to resume normal operations. Once in a while, the problems would persist and the foreman or setup man had to be called for consultation. For example, the temperature of metal in the pot might have become too cold or too hot, or the die temperature might have gotten too cold or uneven.
I worked on this machine for several weeks and was proving to be a good producer. The foreman was happy and so was I. One day, however, the general foreman visited my operation and decided that it posed a safety hazard because it spewed molten metal out the side of the die on nearly every shot. I explained that it was not any different from most of the machines and pointed out that I avoided standing in the path of the spray to avoid getting hit and, even if I did get hit, the zinc stopped on my shirt and did not pose any great danger. He was not satisfied. He declared my machine to be in need of a safety feature to protect me.
The problem was that this "safety fix," a steel plate welded onto the machine, created a potential guillotine that could cut off my hand if I rested it in the wrong place as the die closed. Nonetheless I operated this machine for another month until the UAW decided to go on strike. After a three-week strike in the spring of 1955, we were all called back to work.
Next month, Douglas goes back to work and learns the hazards of being productive.

This article originally appeared in the April, 2013 issue of Hemmings Classic Car.